


Tell the Saint of Lost Souls Where to Find Me

by Habie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habie/pseuds/Habie
Summary: “You know,” Aziraphale tilted his head to the side slightly, resting his temple somewhere above Crowley’s ear. “Instead of disappearing like this for days at a time, you can just let me know when you need more affection.”“I’ll keep that in mind, angel.”





	Tell the Saint of Lost Souls Where to Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> "Surrender's just a word  
> 'Til you try it out  
> And see how hard it is to hurt  
> With someone else around  
> I'm the worst I've ever been  
> Afraid of almost everything  
> The skies are clear but storms are always comin'  
> Your gift to me  
> Is just to be  
> Bracing for the winds I always summon  
> My home, my heart  
> Thank God you are  
> Someone who loves me"  
> -Someone Who Loves Me, Sara Bareilles

The first thing that struck Aziraphale was how immediately affectionate Crowley had become. There had been growing pains, of course; long conversations and awkward touches and nervous laughter. But they’d worked through it quickly - their lifelong study of each other making them perfectly suited experts in the other. But even still, the angel hadn’t quite expected the endless stream of physical touch.

Not that he was complaining, it had just been unexpected. Serpents weren’t known for being cuddly lap creatures, and Crowley had never been especially touchy-feely. Or perhaps he had been, Aziraphale thought a little sadly. Crowley could have just as easily been like this entire time but had nobody to touch. It wasn't as if the forces of heaven or hell were giving out hugs. They had to leave room for Jesus. Or… Whatever demons left room for.

But now everything was on the table, all of their cards had been laid out and their questions were asked and answered and Crowley had slipped quietly and seamlessly into hand holding and walking just a little nearer so their shoulders would sometimes gently bump. He’d sit closer than before to rest a cheek on the angel’s head or just lean on him completely and practically coil his limbs around him in his sleep. It was welcome and warm and comfortable, even if Aziraphale didn’t quite understand where it was coming from.

“I didn’t expect you to be so effusive,” he said one day, weeks later, putting his book down on his lap.

Crowley paused and blinked and lowered the magazine he had been flipping through. Demonic work was easy to spot in most magazines and he wanted to keep half an eye on the more obvious goings on. “What?”

“You’re a regular cuddle bug. I wouldn’t have picked you for a -”

“Do you want me to stop?” the demon tilted his head back so the gold of his eyes was visible.

“Certainly not, dear. I like this. I just didn’t expect it,” he picked back up his book, opening to where his thumb had been keeping place.

“Well, good. You’re cozy.”

“I’m _cozy_?”

“You’re cozy.”

***

Sometimes Crowley went days without talking.

There hadn’t been anyone to think that it was strange before; sometimes there wasn’t anything to say, sometimes you're drained of any of the energy you woke up with and want to sleep for a week, sometimes you just don’t want to draw attention, sometimes when your lifespan has encompassed thousands of years, a few days pass by in a few moments and you stop noticing the quiet. So sometimes he would listen to music and stare at nothing and not say a word for days at a time.

He didn’t realize he was being quiet until Aziraphale plucked the phone out of his hand and replaced it with small plate with a half eaten pastry on it.

“Try that,” he said shortly and with a wide smile before tapping twice on the demon’s ankles. Crowley slid his legs towards himself a little, taking up slightly less of the couch he had sprawled himself out over, making room for the angel to sit. “A new cafe opened up down the way, it looked darling so I thought I’d give them a try. I think you’d like it - less sweet than most places.”

Crowley nodded and mumbled something incomprehensible and took a bite and then shifted again, still slouching sideways on the sofa, but his posture was closer to sitting up than laying down on the upright-to-completely-horizontal spectrum.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“Have I?” he asked with a mostly full mouth that masked the dry croak his words had turned into, like an instrument that hadn’t been tuned in weeks and sounded wrong.

“You have been, my dear, for a little bit now. I had assumed it was on purpose.”

Crowley shrugged, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth in a way that most people would have found uncomfortably reminiscent of an unhinging jaw.

“Has there been anything on your mind or have you just been concentrating on….” he glanced down at the phone he had confiscated a moment before. “Candy Crush.”

“That was one of mine, you know.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything, passing the phone back to its owner. Crowley took an extra moment to let their fingers brush as he took the warm plastic brick, clicked the screen to darkness and dropped it on the side table behind him. The angel opened his mouth to ask again but the telltale ring of his shop’s door shut it for him.

“Oh bother. A _customer_ ,” Aziraphale sighed with a venom that most people would reserve for minor pest infestations. He tapped his palms on his knees twice with a tight, forced smile and then stood, picking the empty plate off of the demon’s lap to drop off in the kitchenette on his way to the front of the store. “Well, Crowley dear. If you figure out what’s been on your mind, I’m always here to listen.”

Crowley watched him go, craning his neck around as Aziraphale moved out of his natural line of vision and then out of the back room completely. The room was empty and quiet and all he could hear were the almost inaudible murmurs from the store and his own breathing… and he hated it.

The quiet hadn’t bothered him for the better part of a week, but now that Aziraphale had pointed it out, now that Aziraphale had _noticed_? Disgusting. Unacceptable.

The angel was at his antique register with a severe expression that wasn’t impolite, but only by technicality, as he answered a question with a tone that dared the customer to make him open the register up. Crowley overheard something about not taking credit cards, but feel free to browse and then the customer was gone behind a bookshelf and Aziraphale was alone until he felt a forehead gently fill in the curve between his left shoulder and his neck.

"Hello again, my dear."

"Mrrffph," Crowley responded.

"Have you figured out what's on your mind?" The angel reached over with his right hand to run his fingers through red hair affectionately.

"No. Not really. It's nothing. Or everything. I don't know."

"Ahha."

"Yeah."

“You know,” Aziraphale tilted his head to the side slightly, resting his temple somewhere above Crowley’s ear. “Instead of disappearing like this for days at a time, you can just let me know when you need more affection.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, angel.”

***

Translating obscure old texts was always long, time consuming, demanding work, but it was also rewarding. And Aziraphale had the time. He had all the time in the world.

Except for today.

Today he had about two and a half hours before a certain redhead slid into the room and perched himself on the edge of the desk. To his credit, he managed to avoid sitting directly on anything, Aziraphale supposed dully. But he was certainly making it impossible to continue working.

"Can I help you find something, Crowley? A chair perhaps?"

He mumbled something in reply, quiet and almost unintelligible as real words. "Ineedaddexfion," it sounded like.

Aziraphale heard it for what it was.

"Ah. Yes. Very good, then." He stood and put his pencil back into its little cup and found a home for his palms on the demon's quickly warming cheeks. "You want to go watch one of those programs you like?"

"Breh."

"Come on, then."

Minutes later they were in a small comfortable heap on a lumpy couch watching something that Crowley seemed to be able to enjoy multiple times in its entirety. Aziraphale saw the amusement in it, he supposed. Anything that managed to make fun of the bureaucracy and ridiculousness of their old lives was worth some time. But it wouldn't have been his first choice.

It was Crowley's first choice though, and Crowley needed the distraction and so here they were.

Aziraphale sat against the left armrest, his posture upright and prim as ever while Crowley managed to take up more than the entire rest of the couch. His head rested on the angel's lap while one leg hung off of the far armrest. Aziraphale gently ran fingers through the demon's hair.

"Has it always been like this?"

"You'll have to be more specific, angel." Crowley said after a short pause, arms crossed somewhat under him. It looked like it should be uncomfortable.

"This. When you shut down, I mean."

"Oh. No. Yeah. It's been a while. Yeah."

"Did you always - Er, how did you used to-"

"Sleeping mostly. Alcohol sometimes."

Aziraphale frowned. "That's…"

"Not great? I know. This is better."

"This is better," the angel agreed.

***

Crowley never loses that hands-on approach to being in a relationship. Aziraphale can’t say that he minds.

He never truly outruns the storms he summons within his own soul either, but Aziraphale has long since learned to deftly conquer them. Sometimes it’s as simple as finding something to laugh about, others it's being a soft place to rest. Usually it's just being entirely there.

Aziraphale runs his thumb over Crowley's ring a few times as yellow eyes follow the gentle movement. He doesn't say anything, he never does, he just soaks in the attention.

"How are you?" The angel asks, noticing his husband's eyes on their hands.

He makes a noncommittal sound in his throat in reply.

Aziraphale moves a hand to the top of Crowley's neck and scratches lightly through short hair.

"I love you, sweetheart."

The demon makes another sound, quieter this time and scoots in closer to wrap his arms tighter around the angel, pressing his face into his side and mumbling something into the soft cream fabric of his shirt.

"I'm so lucky to have you," it almost sounds like.

"Me too, dearest. Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is a companion to Don't Stop Trying to Find Me Here Amidst the Chaos -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312360
> 
> \- Both drew a bunch of inspiration from songs off of the latest Sara Bareilles album because so many songs are about anxiety and love and they're just so *clenches fist* GOOD.
> 
> \- Remember when Candy Crush invites overran Facebook? Because I do and it filled me with an endless cyclone of rage every. day. So I'm pretty sure Candy Crush is one of Crowley's.
> 
> \- Very big thank you to strozzzi for beta reading and being generally very encouraging and wonderful. <3
> 
> As always, feel free to come be my friend on  
> Tumblr at CallMeHabie  
> Instagram at Habie_Cosplays (I'm working on lots of fun cosplays) &  
> Twitter at Habie_Cosplays.  
> Tell me the fic sent you, I'll love it!  
> I also have a linktree, which may be a ton easier to navigate. ---> https://linktr.ee/habie_cosplays


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